


no cost too great; no price too high;

by Sparrows



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: (mentioned but does not appear) - Freeform, Book XIII Death Spoilers, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Other, nonbinary apprentice, spot the gratuitous destiny reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparrows/pseuds/Sparrows
Summary: “On that first night of the Masquerade, when Lucio tried to bargain for a new body… I… I made my own deal. I gave up part of my heart. In exchange for restoring your life.”Asra reaches out and offers the Magician a trade.





	no cost too great; no price too high;

When Asra opened his eyes, the room had changed.

Oh, it was still mostly the same - the gaudy golden furniture, the rich food, the opulence and wealth glittering everywhere one's eye rested, as though even here Lucio insisted on only the finest for himself and his guests - but it had changed, nevertheless. Thick purple mist swirled along the floor, curling up Asra's ankles in spiralling plumes, and the scent of food had been replaced with the magic-laden fragrance of incense and spices that had no mortal name. His fellow guests were still seated as they had been before, but they had all frozen solid, their colours faded and dull; to his right, Nadia had paused with a forkful of spiced swordfish halfway to her lips.

Opposite Asra, seated with their elbows propped on the fine tablecloth and their hands clasped against their chin, was the Magician.

They watched him with all-violet eyes, the hint of a smile curling at the sides of their russet-furred muzzle and their head tilted just so. Asra's own hands were clenching at the edge of the table, gripping so tight that his knuckles ached, but he dared not speak until the arcana had done so first.

"My, my," the Magician purred, tipping their head slowly the other way without breaking eye contact. One large, dark ear twitched. "Asra. It _has_ been a while, hasn't it?"

Asra inclined his head. His throat felt dry when he tried to speak. "Too long, my mentor," he said.

The fox-headed figure smiled wider. "I'd grown used to _you_ coming to _me_. I hadn't expected this..." they trailed off, gesturing with one hand to the frozen room. "... _display_."

"Lucio's desperate. I humoured him," Asra said, glancing as he did towards the head of the table. Lucio had demanded that Asra dress him in glamours before the feast, lending him - if only for a few hours - the healthy glow and cleared eyes that he'd possessed before the plague had ravaged him. In this realm, shifted just a little sideways from the material, he may as well have not bothered; Lucio looked every inch the pale, sickly, _dying_ man that he truly was, and no amount of magic could conceal that.

"Mm. I notice not all of my kin sit at the table," the Magician said pointedly. They frowned, looking the other way down the rest of the table. Though there were twenty-two seats at the table, few of them were filled. "Surely he knows better?"

It was a jab at Asra. An accusation that he'd left the Count in the dark. He scowled. "He knows, but whether he cares, I have no idea. He insisted. Said the plague wasn't going to wait much longer." Asra's lip curled into a sneer and for a moment he looked like he wished to keep talking - but then he sighed and fell silent.

The Magician inspected their claws coolly. Their eyes flicked back to Asra, ears lowered against the curve of their skull. In a low voice, they murmured, "then he'll fail. What might happen then... that, even I can't say."

Asra shrugged. "I don't care about Lucio," he said. " _Lucio's_ not why I summoned you."

"Oh?" Something wild glittered in the depths of the Magician's eyes as they leaned a little further across the table. Their ears were pricked high; their interest had been piqued. "Then why? Do tell, my student."

In response Asra sucked in a deep breath through his nose, laying both palms flat against the pristine white tablecloth. He closed his eyes and set his jaw firmly.

"I want to make a deal."

The Magician's smile was like knives when Asra looked up at them. "Ahh, I thought so," they breathed, smile spreading into a wicked grin. "I _hoped_ so."

Asra felt his confidence falter. "You knew?" he said, quietly, and the Magician barked out a laugh. They waved one hand dismissively, wisps of pale lavender smoke twisting around their slender fingers as they did.

"My student, did you think I might not notice? These eyes of mine may be pretty, but they do still work." Their voice was not unkind - it was playful, teasing, edged with a clear tone of delight. "If it makes you feel better, I wasn't sure until _now_ as to whether you would go through with it."

Asra folded his arms upon the edge of the table. "Of course I'm going through with it." He sighed through his nose, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the Magician's eye from beneath his furrowed brow. "What other choice is there?"

The Magician frowned. "You could just leave them be. Let them rest." Their tone was calm and even.

"Never." He practically snarled the word. "They died trying to _help_ people. I won't abandon them. Not again. Not if there's the _slightest hope_ I might still save them." Asra's blood boiled hot in his veins as he stood, unfolded his arms, slamming both palms against the table as he spoke. His shoulders shook with a sob that sounded like it had been wrenched from between his ribs.

Silence stretched across the table, cold and thin. Teardrops speckled the tablecloth under Asra's bowed shoulders.

"You understand there will be a price to this." The Magician steepled their fingers and regarded Asra with a stare that verged on cold. Clinical. Gone was the cheer and levity of before, the whimsical mask slipping away to reveal the unfathomable being that wore it so easily. "A price you may wish you had never paid."

Asra looked up. The fire in his eyes could have burned all of Vesuvia to ash. "Any price," he breathed, "any at all. _Please._ Just give them back to me."

"...Very well."

The Magician stood. There was a dizzying sensation, like a stone being dropped into still water, and suddenly they stood before Asra, hands clasped before them. He straightened, doing his best to meet the arcana's gaze. With two fingers hooked under his chin, the Magician tilted Asra's head back, their inscrutable violet gaze meeting Asra's own.

They studied him for a long while. Then their hand moved, trailing down the bared column of his throat, then his collarbone, pausing briefly to push the edge of his shirt aside. Their palm came to rest directly over Asra's heart, and their touch was almost hot enough to hurt.

"The deal is this, oh student mine: I shall take your heart between my teeth, and then I shall return it to you."

Asra nodded once, his mouth set in a firm line. At once, the skin under the Magician's palm began to burn. The fire began to spread, winding around his ribs and slipping inside, turning the air in his lungs to a scalding heat. It seemed like an eternity; his bones were dry twigs, his flesh kindling for the blaze that tore itself through the very core of Asra's being.

It was agonizing. But Asra didn't scream. He barely made a sound. Only the noise of his breathing, ragged and coming out in plumes of smoke. His fingers were curled tight around the Magician's wrist, bracing himself. Throughout it all, he did not stop staring deep into the arcana's eyes, not even to blink.

Just when Asra began to fear the fire would consume him whole, that the price would be his life for theirs - a trade he would, he was certain, be willing to make - it stopped. The Magician pulled their hand away and in the absence of heat Asra's knees buckled under him. With shaking hands he pulled aside the edge of his shirt and stared down.

A handprint. It was seared into his skin, the flesh pink and raw and stinging. Above it, an intricate sigil began to glow. Asra recognised it from the few books he'd been able to salvage on the subject, the books that had given him the idea to begin with: the sign of a bargain struck.

When he pressed his own hand to the burned flesh, trying to wipe away the scar with a blush of magic, the pulse he felt beneath the skin was wrong. Weak, beating out of time, skipping and twisting around itself.

"A heart for a heart, oh student mine. May the price be worth it."

The words chased Asra down into the darkness.


End file.
